The table was old
when we bought it
in the seventies.
Queen Anne, mahogany,
paw feet and elegantly carved knees.
It shares the dining room
only with its matching buffet
and chairs.
Seats eight without leaves.
When everyone comes home
we extend it into the living room,
moving the coffee table
and wing chair,
so we can all sit together.
Year after year, it expands,
like love,
to all who come.

This poem first appeared in the Wilda Morris Poetry Challenge.
Used here with the author’s permission.